Harry Potter: What Should Have Been
by alittlebitspecial
Summary: Be forewarned - THIS IS A PARODY OF WHAT SHOULD HAPPEN IN THE SEVENTH BOOK. No likey? Then leave. Otherwise, come in, and leave me beautiful reviews. Have fun.
1. Part One

Disclaimer and fun stuff: if you're stupid enough to believe in any way that I own these characters, boy, I pity you. I don't own Harry Potter or Warner Brothers or anything of that sort, because if I did I wouldn't be writing insane little pieces of fanfiction, I'd be on a tropical island rolling naked in my piles of money.

Also, I do love Harry Potter. Understand that this is in no way meant to be a lash out at anyone who loves Harry Potter, or J.K. Rowling – it's merely an adventure of my slightly disturbed mind.

Enjoy.

Harry Potter

_what should have been_

Part one 

"Come into my office, Harry." Dumbledore said, opening the large marble doors that led to his secret private office that Harry had learned about, thanks to the cute ducks that were psychic. Dumbledore looked solemn, as if his mommy had died. It made Harry feel depressed, and for one moment he wanted to turn around and flee like a startled gazelle, but he didn't, he had been through a lot of pain and secrets and betrayal and other brutal things. He took a deep, deep breath and walked forwards, towards his sad headmaster.

"What's wrong, Alby?" he asked, trying to sound as if he really cared about what was wrong.

"Oh my dear boy Harry...I have to tell you something I should have told you a long time ago. Something that I should have, in fact, shouted at you as soon as you were born." Replied Dumbledore

"You were there when I was born?" asked Harry, fascinated.  
"Yes, and your mother looked really bad, and so did you."

"I didn't know that."

"There's a lot about me you don't know, Harry. That's why I have called you here." Said the headmaster, sounding glum. "But enough about me. Come in, Harry. Sit down, my little friend." Harry thought that Dumbledore snorted a little when he said friend, but he wasn't sure, Harry had been suffering from an earwax problem. He walked in and chose, out of pure stupidity, the hardest, ugliest chair. He felt ugly inside, because he didn't want to listen to his headmaster, he wanted to go outside and find evil people and fight them. Harry Potter liked to fight evil people, it was fun and pretty girls kissed you after you defeated the evil people, unless you had killed their family.

"Harry...listen to me." said Dumbledore sternly.

"I'm listenin', I'm listenin'," said Harry boredly.

"Good. Harry...a long time ago I met a handsome wizard. His name was Tom Riddle, but I called him Voldermort, which is Latin for cupcake butt. He had the best butt, Harry...it drove me wild. It still does. We fell in love. But then, sixteen years ago, he was trying to kill a baby for us to eat. We liked to eat babies. But the baby didn't die. Do you know who that baby was, Harry?" cried Dumbledore, sounding manic. Before Harry could reply, Dumbledore spoke on. "That's right...his name was Jamie Kurk. You don't know him. We fed him to a tiger after our spell failed. I didn't eat a baby, Harry. Do you know what that's like? Do you?"

"No sir...but what does this have to do with anything?" asked Harry.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just like to tell stories." Replied Dumbledore. "But, oh yeah. WE COULDN'T KILL YOU EITHER!!! AND THE TIGER SPAT YOU OUT!!!! Do you know what _that's_ like, Harry? To not be able to kill innocent babies for food, and then have even the tigers fail to destroy them? It's horrible, Harry, so horrible. It made my cupcake butt so depressed that he left for eleven years. I am a Dark Wizard too, and my cupcake butt and I shall eat you, oh yes we shall." He was cackling now, a dry irritating sound that made Harry flinch.

"You mean...all the attempts on my life...you knew about them?"

"Knew about them?!? Hah! Hah! I planned them, Harry! I planned them with my darling Voldermort! But you are a nosy brat that tigers spit out! I don't know what tigers have to do with it! But now, oh now Harry...you shall die, my death kitten!" he laughed, crazily.

"That can't be good." Said Harry, looking scared.

Dumbledore drew out his wand in a single, fluid movement. In a just as single and fluid movement, his arthritis flared up and he dropped it. In one more single and fluid movement, Dumbledore bent down and got the wand again. He pointed it at Harry and shouted something, and suddenly Harry felt more then pain then he had ever felt in his entire life, pain that was such pain that it made the pain from the painful Crucio curse seem like buttercup petals. He screamed and screamed, screamed louder then he ever had in his entire life. It hurt, really bad. This was pain that a Band-Aid couldn't help. But then, thankfully, Dumbledore switched over to the Crucio curse, and it felt like buttercup petals, so Harry laughed. That made Dumbledore get mad! That made Dumbledore get very mad! And then Dumbledore got madder, because his arthritis flared up again, and in a single, fluid movement, he dropped his wand again.

"Ha!" shouted Harry, and then, laughing at the lack of buttercup petals, said, daringly, "ha ha!"

"Oh, gosh darn it!" said Dumbledore, who never used profanity, even though he ate babies.  
Harry leapt forwards in a single, fluid movement and pulled from his robes a dagger. He stabbed Dumbledore in the heart, and nasty old-person's blood trickled out.

"Argh," said Dumbledore.

"Ew!" said Harry, sounding girly. Suddenly realizing that he had just stabbed a knife into his headmaster's heart, he pulled back and looked at Dumbledore. "I'm...sorry," he said. "Please, have a drink." He offered Dumbledore a silver sparkling goblet filled with a red drink.

"Okay!" said Dumbledore, forgetting he was bleeding from the heart. He took the goblet and lifted it to his shriveled lips and downed the draught in a single, fluid movement. As soon as the burning red liquid went down his throat, he realized what a grave mistake he had made, taking a drink from the Boy Who Lived and had also Tried To Kill His Headmaster and Liked To Use Capital Letters Wrongly.

"Argh," said Dumbledore. "Is this poison?"  
"Yes, as a mater of fact, it is." Said Harry, rather...well, rather matter-of-factly. Suddenly he felt more pain then he had ever felt in his life, and that was a _lot_ of pain. He blacked out.

Groggily, Harry awoke. He was on a cliff. Dumbledore stood nearby as the wind blew around them.

"Why are we here, Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "Why didn't you just kill me?"

"Duh...this is more a much more climatic area for a fight to the death. Sheesh, don't you ever watch cheesy films?" asked Dumbledore deridingly. "Now Evil shall triumph over Good!"

"Uh...in climatic movies the good guy always wins..." Harry pointed out, smirking.

"Really? Guess I have to pay for falling asleep during those movies, huh?"

Harry, who had gotten pretty dang scared, because hey, he was on a cliff with one of the most powerful wizards in the world, decided, with all his usual bravery and heroism to do what any other arrogant seventeen year old boy with a severe psychosis problem would do: he charged forward at Dumbledore, screaming as he pushed the Headmaster Who Had Really Been Evil All Along off the cliff.

"Argh," said Dumbledore as he fell off the cliff.

"Take that, suckah!" crowed Harry childishly, doing the Funky Chicken dance (and oh, he danced like the funkiest chicken of them all!), because hey, this was his moment, after all.

Dumbledore kept on falling (it was, after all, an _awfully_ high cliff), poison running through his veins and his life's blood trickling out from his stab wound. Suddenly, a buzzing sound broke through the "silence" (well, it would be silence if you excluded Dumbledore's choking screams and Harry's I've-Gone-Mad laughter), causing both Harry and the falling Dumbledore to look towards the sound. Slowly a flying shape appeared through the clouds, its propellers twirling around like, who knows, propellers or something. It was headed towards Dumbledore. The helicopter struck Dumbledore's falling body forcefully, before crashing into the cliff Dumbledore had fallen from when Dumbledore had fought Harry, who kept trying to kill Dumbledore. Dumbledore is a great word, isn't it? Let's say it again – Dumbledore.

"Argh," said Dumbledore as he struck the ground, breaking his back.

Harry kept on laughing. He didn't really know if he could stop, anyways. He wondered if he was having a nervous breakdown. He read in a cheap novel that sometimes fantastical heroes had them. But he didn't recall any wonderful heroes in his book going down mad lane in laughter. Shouldn't he be hearing voices and seeing hallucinations and things?

_You're not crazy Harry...it's just really funny, that's all_ said Harry's shimmering pet giraffe, who he had named Brittany, even though it was a boy.

"Yeah, you're right Brittany. I'm glad I have friends like you," he said, petting the air where the giraffe was.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore lay there, moaning. Suddenly, amidst his moans, he heard what we never want to hear after being stabbed, poisoned, and then shoved off a cliff – he heard a growl. From the darkness (why there was darkness he didn't know, it was daytime, but somehow there was) came a pack of mountain lions with gleaming fangs and blood red eyes.

_Oh no..._ thought Dumbledore _it's the rare breed of Fanged Red-Eyed Mountain Lions. At least there are no giraffes._

The mountain lions came closer.

_Boo_ said Brittany.


	2. Part Dumbledore Dies

Harry Potter

_what should have been_

Part Dumbledore Dies

"Argh," said Dumbledore as he lay there, large pieces of his flesh being eaten by fanged red-eyed mountain lions "this isn't funny anymore."

_Yes it is_ said Brittany, who was evidently watching the whole affair.

Suddenly the mountain lions scampered away, strings of Dumbledore-flesh swinging gayly from their jaws. Dumbledore wondered why they had scampered away like that, and then wondered why they in fact _scampered_ and didn't bound or run or something. You don't think of mountain lions as scamperers, do you? It confused him. But then, as he looked up again, he saw what had made the mountain lions run bound fine then _scamper _away like they had. It was a weight, falling through the air. A big weight. A six-ton weight.

With spikes.

With red-hot poison-tipped spikes.

It came towards him, faster and faster, the red-hot poison-tipped spikes formed into a smiley-face. It squashed him like a bug, if bugs were often squashed by six-ton weights. Which they aren't, unless there's some secret cult of rich weight-loving psychos running around, and let's hope to God there aren't, because you can just imagine the kind of trouble those people could get into if they decided to use their weights against things other then bugs. But anyways, Dumbledore was squished like some kind of squished thing.

"Argh," said Dumbledore, for the last time


	3. Part Harry And Voldermort Face Off Again

Harry Potter

_what should have been_

Part Harry And Voldermort Face Off Again And Frankly We Are Getting Sick Of Reading About Them Facing Off And Wished Dumbledore Could Die Again

"Oh no..." breathed Harry, suddenly feeling more pain then he had ever felt before but this time it was emotional pain, the emotional pain that comes to us all when we realize that we have killed our beloved headmasters (coincidentally forgetting that they tried to eat us when we were babies). Haven't we all felt such pain? Harry felt it now, sinking to his knees, covering his weepy eyes with his grime-smeared hands, which made dirt get into his eyes and hurt them, making him feel even _more_ pain. He whimpered, forgetting for a moment about everything but his own little problems.

_Are things not funny anymore, Harry-boo?_

"Shut up Brittany!" he shouted to the shimmering giraffe, who danced away, laughing at him drunkenly.

"Oh Boy Who Lived...come here, Harry. I need to talk to you."

Harry turned to look at the figure that had approached him so silently, and gasped. The tall figure was hooded and only two glittering reptilian red slits could be seen in the blackness (unbeknownst to Harry, the glittering reptilian redness was caused by red glitter eyeshadow overload). He recognized the figure as...

As...

Wait for it...

Voldermort, AKA the late Dumbledore's baby-eating cupcake butt. He was trembling with fearsome might or mighty fear, Harry didn't know, he was kind of a thick hero after all. He fought a lot of bad guys. Or, technically, just one bad guy in lots of evil forms. Harry counted it as different bad guys, because it made him sound cooler and not like some psycho who felt lots of pain and saw giraffes (shimmery ones, at that). But enough about Harry's trials and tribulations, we've read enough about them to kill the rainforest. We all know Harry's had a hard life and is now suffering a nervous hallucination-loaded breakdown. Yay for him.

Voldermort took a step forward, looking all evil and snaky and like a very bad guy. Which I guess he was, but keep in mind that he was tortured inside, because his baby-eating Dark Wizard partner-in-crime had just been stabbed, poisoned, pushed off a cliff, hit by a helicopter, attacked by mountain lions (Fanged Red-Eyed mountain lions, none the less) and then squished by a six ton weight with spikes. So he looked really sad in an evil way as he walked forward more, lifting his wand into the air.

"Oh Harry Harry Harry...you killed my duckie-bum! Oh, duckie-bum! Thou hast forsaken me!" cried Voldermort, who was a bit of a drama queen.

"D-duckie-bum? That's nearly as bad as cupcake butt!" snorted Harry.

"DON'T DEFILE DUCKIE-BUM'S PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS NAME!" screamed cupcake-butt – ahem, sorry, Voldermort.

"If your nickname is duckie-bum then you're jus' cryin' for defilement, suckah." Said Harry, acting like a gangster because deep inside he was really scared because Dumbledore had taken away his wand and Voldermort wasn't standing on the edge of the cliff so he couldn't cheat and shove Voldermort off.

"This is for you, duckie-bum!" sobbed Voldermort, before he tilted his head back and let loose a primitive, animal howl that sounded like a dying wolf smashing an amplifier with a radio playing rap music by a baboon. Harry screamed and his ears suddenly felt more pain then they ever had before, even with his hands clamped against them. When the scream finally stopped Harry was surprised to see Voldermort crumpled on the ground like a smashed and defeated cupcake. He stepped closer to the crumpled cupcake tentatively, ready to leap away at the slightest movement. He took another step...and another...and another...until finally he was standing _right beside_ Voldermort, ready to snatch his wand back so he could have half a chance at defeating the Dark Baby-Eating Lord. When suddenly, he head a sound. It sounded like a head of buffalo, but not as loud, plus the animals who were making the noise didn't have hooves. Or horns. And they weren't big. Actually, on second thought, they didn't sound like buffalo. More like...squeaky things. Harry turned slowly, and saw something that made him utter a high, girlish shriek.

They were wombats.

And not just any wombats.

_Combat_ wombats.

In case you're one of those totally stupid uninformed ignoramuses who don't know what a combat wombat is, let me explain it to you in words a simpleton could understand: a combat wombat is a wombat whose pelt is camouflaged and who knows martial arts and has a menacing death squeak of doom. Harry had only thought them a myth – until now. Until now, when he stared upon these small yet utterly malicious camouflage wombats, his insides jelly. The lead combat wombat (and he knew it was the lead one, because it wore a tiny baseball cap with the inscription "I am the leader" on it and all the other wombat's tiny baseball caps said "I am not the leader" on them) stared at his with its glittery red eyes that really glittered, it wasn't just eyeshadow. As they advanced, tiny yellow teeth bared, Harry's only thought was:

Hey...so THAT'S what Voldermort was calling for...cool...hey...they bite! Ow! Then, he passed out. When he came too again he saw the faces of the combat wombats leering over him, whimpered, and passed out again. When he came too AGAIN he didn't see any crumpled cupcakes or combat wombats, so he didn't faint again. Instead, he managed to get upright and look cautiously around. He didn't see anything except for lots of large rocks and trees, all the perfect shapes for Dark Lords or combat wombats to hide behind. So, going upon his deep inner senses, he giggled and ran forward, shouting to the whole of Hogwarts: 

"Hah! I defeated the Dark lord again! I am so cool!"

"You loser! You did not! He just came through Hogwarts and hurled cupcakes at us, screaming something about a duck's butt or some crazy thing like that!" said some Hufflepuff second-year that Harry considered to unimportant to know his name.

"Oh," said Harry "darn. I guess I'll go defeat him _again_ then."

He walked more or less aimlessly down the Great Hall, looking at the frosting smears on the wall; the only trace left of Voldermort that he knew of. Which to say, wasn't much. Considering that a few minutes later Voldermort jumped out from the shadows and latched onto Harry's neck like a mosquito. Harry gasped and clawed at Voldermort's arms, but to no avail. He was trapped. Suddenly, Voldermort yelped and fell from Harry's back, clutching his ankle.

"That traitor! It bit me!" he shouted, pointing at a lone combat wombat that had ankle-blood dripping from its lips.

"Yay! Come on, my wombat friend! Run!" called Harry, already turning to flee, the wombat at his heels.

He ran down the great hall, Voldermort screaming angrily and shooting deadly curses at Harry's back. But it was too late; Harry had slammed the Great Hall's giant doors, protecting him from the curses, and therefore, death.

Or so he thought.

As it turned out, the large doors of the Great Hall are not supped to be slammed. In fact, it's deadly when they're slammed, if you happen to be the slammer. Because when Harry slammed those huge doors, it loosened the rock in the walls. It loosened the rock in the walls a _lot. _So much, in fact, that a large chunk came out of the wall and landed on Harry's thick skull, killing him instantly.

"Ow," said Harry, trying to be different in his death then his headmaster had been. Of course, in the end, it didn't really matter; they were both dead as clipped toenails now. On the bright side, the wombat that had saved Harry's short life was alive.


	4. Part Epilogue

Harry Potter

_what should have been_

Part Epilogue 

A memorial service was held for Dumbledore (because, after all, only Harry and Voldermort had known he was evil) and Harry. A few tears were shed, but then there was alcohol and everyone was drunk soon enough. But their memories live on in the hearts of those who knew them (unless they have amnesia or have been brainwashed). Harry Potter's headstone reads:

**Here lies Harry Potter**

**The Boy Who Lived**

**(for a little while)**

As for Dumbledore's headstone? All it showed was a picture of a duck.

Voldermort, with no more enemies (except for the rogue wombat every once in a while) soon controlled Hogwarts. He expelled all the students and made it into a training school for combat wombats, where he stayed, teaching combat wombats, until he was finally attacked by butterflies with chainsaws.

The world of wizardry was finally put back to normal with Voldermort dead, after many years. But some days, when the history fanatics would walk amongst the ruins of Hogwarts (for, without their leader, the combat wombats had rebelled and destroyed the place) they could hear sounds when the wind was right. They weren't sure what the sound was – they didn't know if it was the wind, a trick of their ears, or a ghost. All they knew was that it sounded mysteriously like a wise old baby eating secretly evil headmaster saying what he was most famous for: "argh."

THE END


End file.
